Tale Time
by illyria-pffyffin
Summary: An account of how Merry came to love Frodo.
1. Prologue

**A/N:  I wrote this as a tribute to Frodo on his birthday last September, 22.  The issue of Merry, Pippin and Sam's love for Frodo is unquestionable.  But surely love has to start somewhere, someplace, sometime; it doesn't simply be.  Hence, this story.    I do this based on book canon, so when Merry first met Frodo, he was three, and Frodo was seventeen.**

**Meneg hennaid to Aratlithiel for taking the time to proof this story.**

**TALE TIME**

_A TLOTR Fanfic by Illyria _

****

**_Prologue_**

****

We were lying on the springy, fragrant grass, gazing at the stars; our faces so close because your feet were facing north, mine south.  It was a very warm night, with a slight wind.  You had been patiently listening while I prattled about my pet rabbit.  Then you told me a story about a boy who went alone to the wolves' den to rescue his beloved rabbit, an exciting story full of eagles and goblins bearing smoky torches.  I closed my eyes and let your voice take me between the dark boughs of the old beech trees of Mirkwood, to the eyries of the eagles where I could see leagues upon leagues of the forest below me, to the stifling caverns, stinking of rotting meat and damp fur, where the wargs held the rabbit captive.  I shivered in delicious terror as your voice dropped to a deep growl in the parts where the wargs talked, and felt my throat tighten when you made the rabbit weep plaintively, calling for its master.  You always told such wonderful stories.

       We were both quiet for a long moment after you finished telling the tale and I was beginning to get sleepy.  I was just thinking how pleasant it would be to sleep under the stars with the wind on my face, when suddenly you spoke.

       "Cousin Bilbo asked me to go to Hobbiton."

       "Really?" I said, all sleepiness forgotten.  "That's neat.  When are you leaving?"

       "He'll come to pick me up next month. He said he'll celebrate his birthday here with me for a change."  Oddly enough, you did not sound all too happy about it.  "It's going to be my last birthday party here."

       I rolled onto my tummy.  Propped on my elbows, I stared at you.  "Last?"

       "He asked me to live with him in Hobbiton."  The stars were reflected in your eyes, you were frowning.  "Do you think I should go?"

       I swallowed with difficulty.  "Do you…want to?"

       "Of course," you sighed.  "Very much."

       "Then you should go," I said, struggling to keep my voice nonchalantly firm, though I had to look away so you would not see how close I was to tears.  

       "Do you really think so?"  There was a quivering note of hope in your voice.  

       "Don't be a fool, Frodo.  This is the one chance you shouldn't miss," I said with as much forcefulness as I could muster.  "Think of the tales he will tell you, the places you will visit, the people who will come to his smial!  I wouldn't think twice if I were you."

       You laughed and pulled me to your arms.  You sighed contentedly over my head, your breath rippling my hair.  "I'm glad this doesn't trouble you at all, Merry.  I was afraid that you might be against it…." You chuckled softly.  "Well, maybe it's me I'm worried about.  I know I will miss you."

       "You're fourteen years older than I am, Frodo," I murmured against your shirt.  "You should know better.  Hobbiton isn't that far from Buckland.  You can write."

       "I will Merry.  As often as I can.  And I promise to come here on your birthday every year, if Bilbo will allow me." 

       "You just want a present," I said bitterly.  

You laughed again, your fingers raking my hair, and I wondered how much longer I could hold back my tears.  But then you stopped suddenly. "You're shivering, Mer," you said anxiously.  "Oh.  We've been out here too long.  Let's get you into bed now."

You rose and pulled me to my feet, gently brushing the grass and dirt from my hair and clothes.  I watched you with a growing coldness in my heart.  I missed you already, that night under the gilded crescent moon, when we made our way back to the smial, my hand secure and content in yours, a sob trapped in my throat.  


	2. Bunny and Pony

**_1.  Bunny and Pony_**

****

"He's just had his breakfast so he shouldn't be hungry for at least an hour or two.  But in case he wants something to eat, you can give him some applesauce, or a soft biscuit.  Only one, mind you, or he might lose his appetite at elevenses," Mamma's voice could be heard behind the closed nursery door.  "Are you sure you're up to this?  Have you finished your chores in the stable?"

          "Don't worry, Esmeralda," a strange voice replied cheerfully.  "I've done it before first breakfast.  Just ask the stable master."

          "I will later," said Mamma with just the slightest hint of suspicion.  "Oh, all right then."  I could imagine Mamma's face breaking into a relieved smile.  "Truth to tell, this sudden wedding puts all of us in a fix.  There's none around to watch over Merry.  We simply need all the lasses in the kitchen and the sewing room, working into the nights most days.  We had planned a summer wedding for Hilda, but to wait for summer means we would have to make her dress rather liberally around the waist…"

          She stopped suddenly.  

          "Well, if there is anything I can do," said the other voice, "I'd be more than happy to help.  Only the ladies shooed me away from the kitchen after I dropped half a dozen eggs yesterday.  I volunteered to help decorating, but every inch of the walls is already draped with hobbits, painting and buffing and festooning this and that…"

          A laugh, a stranger's laugh, Mamma laughing with him.  "Thanks, Frodo," said Mamma.  "I love Merry to distraction, but at this moment, distraction is the last thing I need.  He's a dear, sweet one, that lad, but requires constant watch.  The last time I thought I could safely let him out of my sight for a moment….  Well, you know the incident in the duck pond….  He's in here now."

          The door opened behind me and I heard Mamma's skirt rustling as she walked in.  There was another behind her, another set of soft tread, lighter than Mamma's.

          "Merry?" Mamma knelt beside me and scooped me up into her arms, burying her nose in my cheek, sniffing deeply.  "What has Mamma's bunny been doing all morning?"  

          "Ponies," I said, pointing at my toys, scattered on the polished wooden floor.  

          "Oh, yes, ponies," she cooed, taking my hand and kissing it.  "Speaking of ponies, Merry-love, this is cousin Frodo.  He works with the ponies, you know."

          I stared at you.  You had crouched in front of us, smiling at me.  My eyes were fixed on yours.  They were the bluest I had ever seen; deep, swirling, sparkling blue.  "Hello, Merry," you said, taking my hand.  "A pleasure to meet you."

          "Mamma is very busy today so cousin Frodo is going to play with you," said Mamma, and I looked up to see her eyes smiling down at me. 

          She turned to you.  "Frodo?"

          You were gazing at us, your eyes going slightly glassy.  Then you seemed to stir out of it, and looked at Mamma.  "Yes, Esmeralda?" your voice was soft, raw.  

          Mamma was quiet for a while, stroking my hair.  Her breast heaved as she sighed.  "I'm leaving you with Merry now," she said.  "I'll be in the study, or the kitchen, or the main hall, if you need me."

          "Yes, Esmeralda," you said, the empty stare fading and a smile dancing on your lips. 

          Mamma kissed the top of my head and put me down on the floor.  "Be a good lad now, Merry-love," she whispered, then left with another swirl and rustle of her pale green dress.  

          You settled down beside me and we looked at each other.  

          "What're your ponies' names?" you asked.

          I smiled and proudly showed you my lovely ponies.  The black one was Thunder, because he scared the other ponies.  The white one with the missing tail was Dandelion, because that was what he liked to eat.  The brown one with only three legs was Rocky, because he was strong and brave. 

          "Do you have ponies too, cousin Frodo?"

          You shook your head, gold tinted russet hair fluttering around your face.  "I take care of ponies, though.  In the stable."

          "Do they have names?"

          "Yes, of course," you said.  Then your eyes sparkled brighter.  "Would you like to see them?"

          "Can I?" I gasped ecstatically.  "Oh, yes, yes!"

          "Well, come then," you said.  "I'll show you."

          We left the nursery. I swaggered, no, trotted smugly, beside you, my hand in yours.  We stopped to grab some apples and carrots from the bins outside the kitchen then we headed for the stable.  

          "Can you ride a pony, cousin Frodo?" I asked between mouthfuls of apple.  

          "Yes, of course, when they are not needed in the fields, or ridden out on errands, yes.  It's a lot of fun, riding." 

          "Can you take me on a ride?" I said hopefully.  I never rode before.  It had always been the secure, albeit less exciting, coach ride for Mamma and me.  

          "Well, we'll see," you said, smiling at me.  "When the ponies let you, that is."

          "They have to let you before you can ride them?" I gaped.

          "Well, yes.  What do you expect?" you said quite seriously.  "They are so much stronger than hobbits.  If they don't like you, they can easily toss you off.  You need their permission."

          I looked at you in awe at this new revelation.  "Is it hard?  Getting their permission?"

          "It depends," you said.  "If you know how to talk to them, it will be easy."

          My eyes could not possibly get any wider, but I tried anyway.

          "And carrots help.  Apples too."

          I nodded solemnly, secretly glad I had only eaten one of the apples we filched from the kitchen bins.  

          We came to the stable.  It was rather empty.  Most of the ponies were out, riding or working in the fields.  But you carried me to a stall at the end of the stable.  A lovely cinnamon-colored pony craned its neck and whinnied softly when it saw you.

          "This is Daffodil," you said in a half-whisper.  "Say hello to her."

          "Hello," I said timidly.

          You chuckled softly.  "With your hand too.  Like this."  And you ran your hand along the pony's neck.  "Touch her nose.  Yes, like that.  Good.  Hello, Daffodil.  This is young Merry."

          She snorted softly and I jumped in your arms.  You chuckled gently.  "Pleased to meet you, young Merry, she said.  What do you say to that?"

          "How…how do you do?" I said, not taking my eyes off the mare's rich brown ones.

          "Say it with the apple," you whispered, and I quickly fished out one from my pocket, polishing it briefly on my shirt and offered it to Daffodil.  She sniffed eagerly and bit into it.  A cracking sound as her teeth set into the apple, and my little hand was suddenly full of a pony's tongue and lip and teeth.

          I gawked at you, an exhilarating fear creeping up my spine.  It was terrifying to feel the pony's strength and her enormous size---at not quite four summers old, everything was enormous---but it was also breathtaking to feel the trust and bond that an apple could create.  And your arms were around me.  Somehow I felt…safe.

I loved you, Frodo Baggins, from that moment on.


	3. They're Just Stars

**_2. They're Just Stars _**

****

"Why can't I go to the party?"

"Because it's for grown-ups, Merry-love, and you only turned six two months ago, that's why" said Mamma.  She was already in her best dress, her hair sleeked back and tied into a bun, dotted with flowers.  She smelled very nice and I wanted to cling to her all night, but she handed me to you.  "Thanks for watching over Merry tonight, Frodo."

"It's all right, Esmeralda," you smiled, hoisting me up your shoulders.  I giggled and held on to your hair, my heels kicking at your chest until you gently rapped at them.  "I'm not much of a party roarer myself."

"Aye, that you're not.  But still, giving up a chance to take part in the boat party, that's pretty big for a lad of nineteen.  When I was your age…," said Daddy. 

"Saradoc, dear, I don't think Frodo is interested in how you spent your pre-tween years," said Mamma gently.  She looked up at me.  "See you in the morning, Merry-love.  Sleep well, dear one, and sweet dreams."

Daddy winked at me and held out a hand for Mamma, nodding slightly at you.

"Don't dance too close to the edge, Mamma!" I shouted after them.  "You can't swim, remember?  You might dro…."

"Merry!" hissed Daddy.  Mamma too had whirled around and stared, not at me, but at you.  

"Don't worry, Merry," I heard you speak calmly, but with a strange quiver in your voice.  "There are far too many good hobbit swimmers on the barge who would save your Mamma."

Daddy and Mamma stared at you strangely.  I wished I could see your face.  But your hand, holding one of my ankles near your collarbone, had gone very cold.

"Well, good night, boys," said Daddy finally, and Mamma smiled at us and took his hand.  We waved and they waved back, then you turned back to our quarters.

We played with my toys until supper time then went to the nearly deserted dining hall, only very sparsely filled by the small number of hobbits who, for various reasons, did not participate in the boat party.  We had dinner side by side, at our very own long table, at least for that night.

"Why don't you like parties, Frodo?" I asked while you cut the meat on my plate.

"What makes you think so, Merry?" you asked.  "I enjoy parties."

"But whenever Mamma and Daddy have to go to a grown-up party, they ask you to take care of me, and you never say no."

"I'm not a grown-up either, Merry.  I'm only 19.  Eat your peas."

"But cousin Marigold goes to grown-up parties.  Her mamma and daddy take her.  And she's only 17."

You smiled.  "You're right," you said.  "The truth is, I don't really like parties."

"Why?" I asked, stunned.  "Don't you like to eat?"

You laughed.  "What kind of question is that, o wise Meriadoc? Of course I like to eat.  I'm eating now, aren't I?  Oh, now you've done it!  Here, let me wipe that."

"Don't you like to dance?"

"Oh, I love to dance.  But not as much as I like other things.  Use your fork, Merry, not your fingers….  Oh, well…."

"What other things?"

"A long walk.  Reading books.  Looking at stars."

"You like looking at stars?  Why?"

"Because they're beautiful."

"They're just stars!" 

You chuckled but said nothing more.  You took the plates and cups to the kitchen while I finished my pear, then you put me back on your shoulders, and, giddy and thrilled by the heights, I squealed and pretended I could fly all the way to my room.  

       "Let's get you into the tub now, Merry," you said later in the nursery, after laying my towel and nightshirt to warm by the fire.  "A quick bath, then a tale, and then it's bed for you."

       "You sound like Mamma," I whined.  "Can't we play a little longer?  Let's do the dwarf wrestle.  Or hide-the-kitten."

       "It's late Merry, it's time you got to bed," you said firmly, helping me undress and rolling my clothes into a bundle that you threw to the basket in the corner.  "In you go now."

       I sighed as you eased me into the tub.  It was nice once I was in the water, but the thought of going straight to bed miffed me.  I splashed at you when you came to scrub me, but you only laughed and pinched me gently on the nose.

       "It must be nice to be you!" I exclaimed sullenly.  "You don't have any mother and father!"

       Your hand, washing my back, was stilled, but you said nothing.

       "You can play anytime, sleep anytime, go anywhere…"

       "But it's lonely, Merry."

       I was stunned and I looked at you.  There was a deep hollowness in your eyes, a chilling dark emptiness.  Sadness.

       "Why lonely?  There are a lot of people here."

       You smiled, but it was a tired, not-altogether-sweet smile.  "Sometimes one can get lonely in the crowd too.  Especially if the crowd doesn't understand him."

       I did not understand either.  But you poured a dipper of warm water over my head and I spluttered.  You laughed and I was glad the distant, pained look had gone from your eyes.  It was suddenly more important, that laughter that echoed in your eyes, more important than sleeping an hour later, or having a game of dwarf wrestle on the floor.  

You pulled me out of the bath and dried me with a warm towel and helped me put on my nightshirt.  Then you gave me a pony ride to my bed and tucked me in to it, before settling down beside me with one hand around my shoulder.   It was tale time.

       "Look," you said in a low voice, pointing at my window.  "Stars.  Can you see them?"

       "Yes."

       "Every night they rise in the east, and at dawn they set in the west.  They move.  They see everything…"

       "But it's dark, how can they…?"

       "They have their own light, don't they?  They can see in the dark.  And what do you think they see?"

       My cheek brushed against your shirt as I shook my head. 

       "Everything.  They see little hobbits and their cousins in their beds.  They see the barges in the Brandywine, all bedecked in candles and flowers, full of dancing and singing hobbits…."

       "And eating hobbits." I giggled.

       "And eating hobbits.  They see the trees sleeping in the woods.  They see the empty East road and travelers camping by the roadside, making fire and singing and yes, eating; their ponies, or even horses, tied to a tree, sleeping on their feet and mumbling in horse dreams.  The stars see them all.  Further, and further they go, and they see the gleaming gates of the dwarves' caverns on the Lonely Mountain, and they see the dwarves busy with their forge, making lovely toys and beautiful trinkets.  They see goblins, who are always afraid of the sun and come out mostly at night, prowling in the woods.  They see Beorn flitting behind bushes, a great, terrible bear…."

       My eyes were closed but your voice painted images in my mind, vividly, in stark details and colors.  They were a little scary, these images, and I sought your hand, and you squeezed mine on top of the blanket.

       "The stars see the dark creek flowing in Mirkwood.  They see the path trailing in the darkness, with spiders whispering between the trees, ready to spring at any likely victim…."

       "Oh!" I gasped, and felt your hand gently stroking my head, soothing me.  

       "The stars watched the Elves as they were merrymaking in woods.  They are brilliantly beautiful, their voices piercingly sweet.  They are singing and dancing and laughing…."

       I opened my eyes and looked up at you.  You were gazing out the window.  Your eyes were ablaze with a cold white fire, your face shone fiercely, and there was something in your voice that quivered restlessly: a hunger, a longing, deep, poignant and unrestrained.  

       I understood.

       You wanted to go away.  You wanted to see.  Just like the stars saw.  You wanted to see beyond Buckland, beyond the Shire.  And it terrified me.  I whimpered softly and you were suddenly brought back to the here and now, beside me once more, fussing over me.

       "Oh, I'm sorry, Mer," you said, smiling down at me, your face half hidden in the shadows while the other half was gilded by the light from the fire.  "Not a good story, is it?  Well, best change it then, before you fall asleep with a nightmare ready to wake you up in the night."

       You frowned.  "Let's make a nice dream, would you like that?" you said, and I nodded enthusiastically.  "What made you laugh today?  Do you remember?"

"Swing."

"Oh, yes.  You laughed so hard on the swing today.  What good things did you eat today?"

"Chicken.  And corn.  And pie.  And…"  You patiently listened as I listed nearly all the food I had that day.

"What did we do today?"

       "We rode on Daffodil."

       "Yes."

       "You fished."

       "Lovely fish, weren't they?  Not to mention tasty," you smiled.  "What else did we do?"

       "We made little boats."

       "Yes.  We made little boats and sailed them in the Brandywine," you muttered softly.  The white light began to kindle again in your eyes, brighter, hungrier.  "Where do you think those boats are now?  Where are they going?"

       "Frodo!" I wailed.  You were jolted back from that eerie place you seemed to have visited in your mind, and you stared at me.  "Don't go," I pleaded, close to tears.

       "I'm not going anywhere, Merry," you said, your brows knitted in concern.  You held me close as I began to sob in fear.  "Don't cry, love.  I'm here."

       I curled up into your arms and buried my tears in your shirt.  You were here.  But for how much longer?   

       You rocked me tenderly, softly crooning an old lullaby and making gentle shushing sound.  I did not want to fall asleep, afraid that you would leave me to run with the stars and little toy boats floating downriver.  But it felt warm, cozy, secure, in your embrace.  The music from the party boats floated in and dulled my fear, and reluctantly I succumbed to sleep untroubled.


	4. Nine Years of Tears

**_3. Nine Years of Tears_**

****

I found you in the library.

You were sitting upright in an armchair, with a book in your hand, and you smiled when you saw me come bounding in.

"What are you doing here this early in the morning?" you asked as I climbed onto your lap.  "Or have you learned to read overnight?"

"I'm hungry," I said.  "Let's eat.  In my room."

"I'm not really hungry, Merry."  And you looked rather pale too.  "Why don't you go to the dining hall and ask one of the kitchen maids for breakfast?"

"I don't like it there.  Too much sniffing and crying."

"Merry," you sighed softly.  "Someone's died.  People cry when that happens."

"How long does it have to go on though?  I'm sick of it," I said crossly.  "Are you going to this…few…few…."

"Funeral.  Yes," you said quietly.  "I'm expected to."

"Not much fun in it, I suppose," I said. 

And you laughed hollowly, ruffling my hair.  "No.  Not much fun there, just a bunch of hobbits sniffling and crying and comparing notes on who saw her last and whether there had been hints about her death that people simply missed.  No, Mer.  Funerals aren't much fun."

I snorted.  I looked at the book in your hand.  "What are you reading?"

"A book on the history of Buckland."

"Again?"  I rolled my eyes.  

"Well, there aren't that many books around here about things outside of Buckland and its people, are there?"  You waved your hand around the small library.  "But at least this one is interesting."

I cocked an eyebrow doubtfully. 

You smiled and pointed at a rather murky picture of several hobbits standing in front a row of saplings, with two dark things near their feet.

"This is the story of how things were before the Hedge was up and tall like it is now.  Wolves could still come as they pleased, and no hobbit dared to go outside their smial after dark.  Even in daytime, hobbits went out in groups, and many of them carried weapons.  They not only locked their doors, but barred them…"

I leaned back against you and felt your jaw brushing my hair as you spoke.  As always, your voice carried me away, so that we were no longer ensconced in the old armchair in the musty library, but out in the open when Buckland was still half-wild and full of excitement.  As you read and expanded the story for me, I felt your stiffness melt and you sat more comfortably, resting your chin on my head.

I was Meriadoc, the brave wolf-slayer, when someone shattered the magic of your voice.  

"Frodo."

I could feel your muscles tensing again as you closed the book and looked at the door.  It was Uncle Dodinas.

"We're leaving in a moment.  Are you ready?"

"Yes."  It was a mere whisper.  I looked up.  You had turned much paler than when I first saw you.  And the book trembled in your hand.  Slowly you dislodged me from your lap.

"Merry, your mother is looking for you," Uncle Dodinas said to me. 

I opened my mouth to say something, but felt your hand on my shoulder and decided to stow away my protest.  You put the book on the table, straightened out your rumpled coat and patted me absentmindedly on the shoulder.  "Go to your mother, Mer."

I wanted to wave at you outside the library, but you were already walking resolutely away.  

          You were not back by lunch time, so I went to look for you.  The library was empty and you were not at the stable, so finally I went to your room.  I found it funny that after all those years, well nearly five years anyway, I never saw the inside of your room.  I knew where it was, but I never went in.  It just never seemed important.

          It was quiet inside, and I did not really hope to find you there.  But I pushed the door open anyway and peered in.  The window was open and sunshine and wind were streaming in freely.  Your coat was on the bed, so you must have returned along with the rest of the mourners.  But where were you?

          A slight movement in the darkest corner beside the small wardrobe caught my eyes.  I stepped in gingerly.  And stopped in the middle of the room.

          It was you.  Curled up into a tight ball of shaking raw nerves, white as sheets, the only trace of color the spot of blood on your bottom lip where you had bitten into it in frenzy.

          I must have made a sound, because then you opened your eyes, and they were so full of anguish that I staggered back from your stare.  

          "Merry," you whispered.  "What are you…?"

          "What happened?" I croaked. "Are you ill?"

          You tried to stand up, but you were shaking so badly I was afraid somebody would start to yell "earthquake!"

You slumped back to the floor, covering your face with both hands.  "Just go, Merry.  Please."

"Frodo…"

"Go!"  It sounded like a desperate shriek of pain.

I whirled around, and ran blindly outside.  I did not know where I was going and when I bumped viciously into someone, I was thrown backwards and landed with a whimper on the floor.  

It was cousin Bilbo from Hobbiton.  Your beloved cousin Bilbo, the spring of your torrents of wondrous stories.

I rose and grabbed his wrist urgently.  "Quick, there's something wrong with Frodo!  Hurry!  You must see him!"

I did not need to say it twice.  Despite his age, Bilbo quickly caught up with my desperate pace and soon, we were back in your room.

You had not moved, still coiled on the floor, trembling violently.  

Bilbo rushed toward you and gathered you in his arms, murmuring soothing words.  I looked on, shaking and frightened.

"What is it Frodo?" said Bilbo.  "Tell me.  Is something the matter with you?"

Your eyes were tightly shut and your voice was a reedy whisper when you answered, "They used to sleep with me.  Here.  In that bed."

Cousin Bilbo looked grave.  He stared at me with eyes that clearly spelled "Get out!" but I could not move.

"They would come, Mother first, then Father.  The bed would feel very cramped, it creaked horribly, but it was warm, pleasant to have them there."

You were rocking back and forth, back and forth.

"Mother would tell a story.  Sometimes Father sang something, old songs, silly rhymes, and we would all laugh.  Sometimes we ate nuts on my bed, playing riddles. Sometimes they read aloud to me, even after I knew how to read.  Sometimes we didn't do anything and just made pictures from the stars…."  

You spoke very fast, as though wishing to have everything out as quickly as you could, your breath came in jagged gasps, your fingers anchored in cousin Bilbo's waistcoat, but you were still shaking fiercely. 

 "Father said we were to write a book of our own, of the stories we made ourselves.  Mother was going to draw pictures in it.  And I was to go fishing with her the next day.  Do you know that she liked fishing?  She was good at it too.  And Mother had a flower bed in the garden, and we planted tulips…  Do you know that?  Do you know about the tulips?  They were red, and white and yellow…"

"What happened, lad?" Bilbo firmly interrupted.  "Was it the funeral?"

You nodded desperately, burying your face in Bilbo's shoulder.  You sounded as if someone was strangling you when you went on, "I planted tulips on their graves too.  They are blooming.  I saw them.  Red and white and yellow…."  

"Frodo," said cousin Bilbo, stroking your back.  "Your parents have been dead for nine years now."

"They are here," you whispered.  "Still here.  The place is full of them.  Everywhere.  I saw them.  It was… It wasn't them in those graves.  They were…grey…blue…pale…like water… in their coffins.  It wasn't them.  They're still here.  I can hear them.  I should have been there, I should have been with them, I should have…."

"They're memories, lad.  Strong and clear as they might seem, they are not real."

"I promised them I would not cry.  I would not cry.  It would break their hearts to see me cry."

"What about your heart?  Have you ever thought of that?  Have you ever thought that if crying helps to ease your heart, they would tell you to cry?"

"I WOULD…NOT…"  Your knuckles were white, scrabbling on cousin Bilbo's coat, your jaw was taut, your lips had transformed themselves into a ragged, white line.  You tried to draw in breath, but your whole body shook and suddenly you sobbed.

In that single choked sound that escaped your mouth I heard nine years worth of pain and anguish, anger and loneliness, confusion and grief.  Loss.  How you could have kept so much darkness behind your easy smile and laughing eyes was beyond my comprehension.  I plummeted to the floor, scalding tears on my cheeks.  Weeping had never felt so releasing.


	5. The Haunted Smial

**_4. The Haunted Smial_**

They were talking about you in the sitting room.   About how they never thought you could be so miserable all these years, because you had hidden it so well, even from yourself.  How you did not shed tears at your parents' funeral.  How you seemed to bounce back to normal so fast, finding your appetite in a day or two and playing with your friends by the end of the week.  How they never worried about you because you seemed so…capable.  Strong. 

          If only they could see you the way I did just moments before, when I came to your room to see if you were up for tea.  Your eyes and nose were swollen and red, your voice was hoarse and you looked very tired.  

          "I don't think I will come down for tea, Merry," you said.  "I'll see you at dinner."

          "You haven't eaten anything since morning."

          "I'm fine, don't worry.  Go along now."

          "You don't look fine," I pointed out.

          You smiled wearily.  "Well, maybe I do look awful. But I'm all right.  Funerals do this to me.  It's just nobody has ever found out before.  I'll be fine soon. I always am.  Believe me."

          "Why, Frodo?  Why do funerals bother you so much?  It wasn't your parents we buried this morning."

          You winced.  

          "Sorry," I muttered.

          "It's all right, Merry.  You see, it seems to me that my parents died countless times.  Every funeral is their funeral all over again, black veils, too many flowers, crying hobbits, the smell of freshly dug earth.  I lose them over and over again, I mourn them with every death.  They have died, but I don't think they've passed away."

          "I'm sorry" was all I could say.

          "I'm sorry you should see me like this," you said, smiling.  "It's not a pretty picture, I know."

          It was not.  But I was secretly glad I saw you like that.  I had seen you strong.  I had seen you looking up at me, laughing, whirling me round and round in the air with your strong, wiry hands.  I had seen you outlined in the firelight of my room, solid and reliable, when you bent over me, chasing away remnants of a jarring nightmare with your patient caress and soothing words.  I had seen you swim, even on cold spring days, lap after lap after lap, in the rocky pool where you taught me to swim.  I had seen you haul bullies by their collars and punch one or two of them squarely in the jaw.  I had seen you strong, and I loved you for that.

          But now I knew that the pillars that held your world up were ever so slightly wobbly and I wanted so much to help prop you up.  I saw that your soul was chipped and scarred and I wanted so much to help you make it whole again.  I loved you in a whole different way now, less selfishly, more deeply.  I had seen you weak and fragile, and it was scary after the quietly strong, dependably wise you.  But I really would not have it any other way.

          I held your hand shyly and you pressed mine gently.  

          "Go now," you said, smiling.  "Aren't you hungry?"

          I went away worried and came into the sitting room still scowling.

          "He said he didn't want tea," I said, taking my seat beside Mamma.

          Bilbo looked at me closely, then at the others around the table.  "Gilda dearest," he then said to Gramma, "if you'll excuse me, I would prefer to have my tea in Frodo's room.  Just for today.  The lad being in his current state and….  I want to see what his opinion is on the matter that we have just discussed."

          I jumped from my seat, looking imploringly at Bilbo.  

          "And if you could spare Meriadoc, Esme dear, I would be very much grateful for his help.  I could probably handle the pot and cups, but someone has to carry the plates."

          "Of course, Bilbo," said Mamma.  "Merry."

          She helped me pile cakes and sandwiches on a tray and gave me a smile as I followed Bilbo out of the sitting room and down the hall to your bedroom.

          "I thought I told you I don't want tea, Merry," you called out when Bilbo rapped at your door. 

          "Well, what about a tale then?" he said.

          "Bilbo?"

          You opened the door, a look of surprise in your face when Bilbo and I marched in and set the tea things on your bed.  

          "Well, Meriadoc here seems to think that since you don't want tea, a tale would probably cheer you up," said Bilbo.

          I opened my mouth, but Bilbo had already continued.  "And since I don't want to miss my tea, I decided to have it here.  That is, if you don't mind, Frodo."

          A smile broke on your lips.  "I don't see that I have any say in this matter since you're already here and the cups and plates are on my bed."

          "Very well, then," said Bilbo lightly, sitting on one corner, pouring tea.  You looked at me with curious eyes, but I only smiled and took the cup Bilbo gave me.  

          "Well," you said, crossing your hands and leaning on the headboard.  "I'm waiting for the tale."

          "Oh, yes," said Bilbo.  "The tale.  A really good one, this.  I bet you anything you have never heard of this one yet.  This is the story of the old hobbit and a haunted smial."

          "What's haunted?" I said, munching on a cake.

          "Full of ghosts," you said.  "Napkin, Merry.  There are crumbs on my pillow."

          Bilbo sipped his tea and sat back contentedly.  "Well, you see, there was this very old hobbit, living in a smial under a tall, green hill.  He lived alone, because the smial was haunted, and no one wanted to stay there."

          "Well, why did the old hobbit live there then?" I asked.

          "Because he loved the place, Meriadoc.  It was a very lovely smial….  Well, except for the ghosts, that is."

          "Didn't he get lonely?" I asked again.

          "Well, yes, now that you mention it, he was lonely.  He often wrote to his many relatives, asking them to come and stay with him.  But none of them would, because of the ghosts."

          "Wasn't the old hobbit afraid of the ghost?" 

          "Merry," you groaned.  I looked at you, and you frowned at me.  I stuck my tongue out. 

          "That's all right, Meriadoc.  Questions mean that the audience is listening.  And to answer yours, no, he wasn't afraid of the ghosts.  He had seen worse things than ghosts and personally he couldn't care less about them except that they made his life terribly lonely.  So lonely, that he sometimes invited the ghosts to tea."

          "What?" I yelled.  

          "Merry!"

          "Yes, you heard me correctly, Meriadoc.  He asked the ghosts to come to tea."

          "But…but…what do you serve ghosts when you ask them to tea?"

          You laughed, and Bilbo, glancing at you, chuckled.  "You'll know soon enough, Meriadoc.  Because one day, this old gentlehobbit invited a second cousin thrice removed from his mother's side to come to tea.  Said cousin was a strappling lad, brave and strong and fair.  Very much like you, I should say, Meriadoc."

          "Oh," I breathed out.  I heard you chortling and I glanced at you and made a face.

          "Well, but when the gentlehobbit was setting the table for tea, the first ghosts arrived.  And the old hobbit was dismayed.  He had clean forgotten that it was the very same day that he had invited the ghosts out of sheer loneliness.  The old hobbit was afraid that his young cousin was going to leave before even sitting down to a cup of tea."

          Bilbo sipped his tea slowly, then sighed with exaggerated satisfaction.  I could have sworn the old hobbit gave you a conspiratorial wink.  "But there was no other way for it.  The old hobbit laid the table ready.  There was fruitcake, spongecake, spicecake, cheesecake and cupcakes; blueberry, blackberry, raspberry, strawberry pies.  There was the softest bread that would melt in your mouth, the smoothest butter that would spread itself out, the richest cheese that you wouldn't get tired of eating, the fluffiest biscuits that …."

          "Ooohhh," I groaned, reaching for another slice of cake and hastily stuffing it into my mouth to staunch the onslaught of saliva.  From the corner of my eyes, I saw with satisfaction that your throat bobbed as you swallowed. 

          "…tasted like honeyed air dusted with nuts…"

          "Ooohhh!" 

          "Merry, kindly stop drooling on my blanket," you chided.

          "And tea, of course.  Tea that smelled faintly of roses and apple blossoms…"

          "Ooohhh!"

          "…golden honey that made you feel full just by smelling it, fresh milk that smelled of summer flowers…"

          "Ooohhh," I groaned, collapsing on the mattress.  "How long is there to go before dinner?"

          You laughed as you ruffled my hair, your eyes fixed on cousin Bilbo.  "Did the second cousin thrice removed come?"  you asked quietly.

          "He did, lad, he did," said Bilbo, staring at you.  "But the question is, would he stay?"

          There was a small flame, flickering, uncertain, in your eyes.  

          "The old hobbit invited him in, asked all the usual polite questions, got all the usual polite answers, then they went to the dining room.  When they were both seated, the ghosts started coming in from the walls, seeping into the room like fog.  The lad looked at them…"

          "Was he scared?" I asked hurriedly. 

          "No," said Bilbo emphatically.  "He was not the least afraid of the ghosts."

          "Why?"

          "Yes, why?"  Your voice sounded odd.

          "Oh, allow me to go on for a bit, then you will know the answer.  You see, as soon as the ghosts came and settled themselves around the table, the old hobbit expected the lad to bolt out of the door.  But instead he looked at the ghosts, and then at his host.  'Are they invited?' he asked.  The old hobbit stared at him in surprise and said 'Yes, they are, as a matter of fact.  You don't mind, do you?'  'No' said the young hobbit.  'But I think it would be proper if you could introduce me to them.'"

          He stopped!  He stopped to take another long pull on his tea!  Cruel, cruel cousin Bilbo!  I gave you a sidelong glance and found you gaping too.  

          "Ah, your Gramma Gilda always makes the nicest tea, Meriadoc.  Very good for an old hobbit like me," Bilbo said, wiping his mouth.  "Where was I?"

          "Bilbo!" we groaned in unison.  

          "Oh, yes," he said with eyes twinkling.  "So the old hobbit began to introduce the young lad to the ghosts.  They were mostly his long dead relations, aunts, uncles, cousins.  They spent some time tracing family history until the young hobbit understood how he was related to each of the ghosts, while they learned about what became of their descendants…."

          "What's descendants?"

          "Children," you said shortly.

          "Yes.  And then they ate," Bilbo went on.

          "The ghosts too?" I said.

          "Of course.  But they didn't eat the food laid out by the old hobbit.  They brought their own.  Chicken that looked like clotted fog.  Sausages that looked like frozen shadows.  Eggs that looked like curdled smoke."

          I grimaced.  

          "After tea and a bit of a small talk, the ghosts left.  Only then could the old hobbit ask why the young one didn't fear the ghosts.  It's quite impolite to talk about such matters when the ghosts in question are still around, don't you agree?  They might take offence and we wouldn't want that to happen, would we?  So the old hobbit said 'You're the only hobbit I know who doesn't fear those ghosts.  Why aren't you afraid of them, lad?'  And the young hobbit said 'What's to fear, cousin?  They are of the past, I am of the present.  They can't touch me, they can't hurt me.  And think of the tales they can tell!  Why should I fear them?'"

          "Oh!" I squealed excitedly.

          "Clever, wasn't he?" said cousin Bilbo, smiling at me.

          "Yes," you said quietly.  "Clever."

          "The old hobbit was so happy to find someone who wasn't afraid of the ghosts.  So he asked the young hobbit 'Would you like to stay here and keep an old hobbit company?'"

          And he stopped …_AGAIN!  He took his time pouring himself another cup of tea, adding some honey, stirring the tea, sipping it, adding another spoonful of honey, stirring again.  _

          "Did he say yes?"  I suddenly heard you asking.

          "What's that, Frodo?" Bilbo looked up from his cup.

          "I said did he say yes?" you repeated slowly.

          "What do you think?" asked Bilbo in return, his eyes flashing.

          "Of course he would say yes," I said.  "It made sense for both of them, didn't it?  The old hobbit was lonely and he made such good tea."

          To my surprise, Bilbo burst out laughing.  And I heard you chuckling too, though a little stiffly.

          "Too wise you are, Meriadoc," said Bilbo, smiling broadly, but his eyes, staring at you, were solemn.  "That was exactly what happened.  The young hobbit said yes, and he moved in to the old hobbit's smial.  He shared a bedroom with a ghost who died crushed under a fallen tree.  And everybody, hobbits and ghosts alike, lived, and died, happily ever after."

          "Oh, it's such a wonderful story, Bilbo!" I cried, jumping up to hug the old hobbit while you jumped to rescue the tea things that were in danger of toppling from the bed.  "I'm glad the young hobbit came to stay."

          "So am I, Merry," said Bilbo, stroking my hair.  You stood up and put the tea tray on your writing desk.  When you turned, I saw your eyes glowing, shining, cold and bright.  

          "You like the story too, don't you, Frodo?" I asked.  

          "Yes, Merry."  Your voice sounded a little odd.  "I like it too."

          You sat in front of Bilbo, and the old hobbit reached out to touch your cheek with his finger.  

"Thank you, Bilbo," you whispered.

          "It was a pleasure, dear boy," said Bilbo.  His voice was odd too.

          "Do we still have cake?" I asked, uncomfortable with what was happening.

          "We do," you turned your eyes to me.  "But it's mine."

          "But Frodo, you said you didn't want any tea!" I protested.

          "Cousin Bilbo changed my mind," you said, grabbing a slice from the plate.  "I think I'm quite hungry now."


	6. Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

****

The leaves sprinkled us with dew as we rode slowly under the trees.  Your arms were around me, keeping the cold of early morning at bay.  But the wind whistled softly, and where it touched my cheeks where tears had trailed, it was freezing.  

          Up the Hill, Daffodil's sturdy feet clip-clopping wetly on the moist grass.  We stopped and stared beyond the Hedge, beyond the Old Forest, eastward.  The Sun was climbing up majestically, the sky a million shades of red and blue.  I wondered if morning would look that glorious in Hobbiton, or indeed, as lovely, when seen without you.

          "A new day, Merry," you whispered against my hair.  A new day for you.  For you and Bilbo, in Hobbiton.   I choked back a sob.

          A new day for me too.  New and strange.  Buckland would be totally foreign without you and the magic of your tales and the tender-teasing sparkle of your eyes and your rich, ringing laugh.  Pony rides would be different.  The river, summer swims and fishing jaunts, they would change.

          I looked up and saw the sun flaring brightly in your eyes.  You were smiling, your mouth half-open in joyful wonder.  You looked so radiantly happy.

          And it was solace enough.  

~the end~


End file.
